


big chop

by putorius



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Haircuts, Head Shaving, M/M, Trans Enjolras, black enjolras, black grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:59:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putorius/pseuds/putorius
Summary: Grantaire laughed. “Did you come here straight from the store?”“I had time to kill in Target,” said Enjolras.“You didn’t even mean to shave your head today, did you?” said Grantaire.“Courfeyrac’s back,” said Enjolras. Grantaire nodded.“I’m sure those two things are somehow related,” said Grantaire. “Come on. Let’s go shave a head.”---otherwise known as the one where grantaire shaves enjolras's head---also! this story has a ton of stuff about black hair culture in it, so read the notes if ur unfamiliar, or feel free to ask questions abt it!





	big chop

**Author's Note:**

> when a black person cuts all or most of their hair off to start over, either emotionally or because of damage, often both, it's called a big chop.  
> [there are different hair types. heres an easy visual guide](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/1e/cc/30/1ecc30200d4bff308edbcd1a66b2d20c--natural-hair-types-natural-hair-products-for-black-women.jpg)  
> in my head, enjolras has type 4b/4c hair, on account of thats what i have so its easiest for me to write that experience. i was writing grantaire with 3b in mind.  
> the natural hair movement is a push for black people, especially black women, to wear their hair unrelaxed, that is, without chemical treatment. hair is hugely important in black culture as a symbol of freedom and an expression of who we are - for historical context, slaves used to draw maps to freedom in each others cornrows.  
> the incident in the thrift store and the kindergarten story are both things that happened to me. ive also been asked all the questions listed and i promise, thats only the tip of the iceberg. i could write a whole book about all the dumb things people have said to me about my hair.

The earliest he can remember, he’s four, he’s got on a pink dress, and some lady in a thrift store is trying to press a business card into his mom’s hand along with promises of big things for her little sweetheart with the magic hair. His mom gives the lady a sour look, but shoves the business card in her pocket, rightfully assuming the lady won’t go away until she takes it. They never call her.

Next, he’s five. He’s in kindergarten. On the first day of school, he’d worn his hair pulled all the way back into a puffball. He made friends with a girl called Caitlyn. On the second day of school, he wore his hair free and it exploded from his head as an afro. When he tried to talk to Caitlyn, she couldn’t recognize him with his hair like that and kept running anytime he got close. His hair scared her. He didn’t start wearing his hair loose again until he was seventeen.

In between then and now, there were countless people - family, peers, complete strangers - who’ve focused on his hair. Is it real? Why does it look like that? I know a black girl with straight hair - why’s yours like that? Don’t you ever brush your hair? Do you wash it? You’d look good with straight hair. You’d look better with straight hair.

Sometimes, if they were feeling adventurous or if they were completely obtuse, they’d touch his hair. Grab it, even, without permission. People liked to pull on the coils and watch them bounce back. People liked to pat him on the head and comment on his soft it was. Like a cushion. People liked to tap the back of his head - do you feel that? How about now? Can you feel that? Your hair is like a helmet! Can you even feel me doing that?

When he was fifteen, he made a presentation in class about the natural hair movement and why black hair meant freedom in the black community. Jake, a white boy with flat hair and a flatter personality, laughed so loud Enjolras had to struggle to talk over him.

\---

He had to admit - he did not have the utmost respect for Grantaire after their first meeting. It was something to do with how rude and brash Grantaire had been, how obviously drunk, how he seemed to be  _ enjoying _ disrespecting Enjolras’s whole system of ideals. That sort of thing did not endear a person to you.

But later, at the second meeting, when a white boy made a few choice remarks about Enjolras and his hair and Grantaire stood between the two of them and told him off, cutting down every shitty remark at the root and twisting them until they spat back in the white boy’s face, Enjolras started to think that maybe Grantaire was an alright sort of fella.

\---

He was buying tampons. That’s the official reason he’s in Target. Unofficially, it’s because Courfeyrac’s flight had just gotten in, and as excited as he was to see one of his closest friends after so much time abroad, he really wasn’t interested in hanging around in the apartment while Courfeyrac and Combeferre got  _ reacquainted. _

So. Target. He’d gotten the tampons in the first two seconds of being in Target, and now he was just wandering pointlessly through the aisles. He thought about buying a shark onesie. He thought better of it. He leafed through the romance novels. All very, very peculiar. He didn’t want to be the one grown man spending too much time in the toy aisle, so he shuffled past the dolls and action figures.

God. He had an hour or so to kill. What was he supposed to do for an hour in Target by himself?

He wandered through housewares. He didn’t need new plates, but those were pretty cute. There was a nice shower curtain! It had sharks on it. He thought about the shark onesie again. Maybe he should head back to the clothing section and grab it.

Hair care. He wandered through the white section - they had so many options. Most of Enjolras’s hair options were found online. There were about a thousand different shampoos, most smelling like strawberry. Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a shampoo that smelled like artificial fruit - it was probably back when his mom was buying his shampoo. She’d learned a lot about black hair over the years, but shampoo eluded her.

He perused the scrunchies. He loved scrunchies. They made him feel like he was in  _ Clueless _ . Then there were headbands. He could never get the hand of headbands.They didn’t get along with his hair, generally speaking.

There were those little round hair brushes - the antithesis of 4c hair. Enjolras had barely survived an encounter with one back in 2010.

And then - clippers. Those electric things with length attachments. He stared at them. An idea was beginning to twinge at the back of his mind.

He pushed his cart past them. The only thing in it was the tampons.

He made another round of the store. The employees were starting to eye him carefully. He gave them a pained, apologetic expression. He knew how much it sucked to be a service worker and he really couldn’t blame them. He checked his watch - Christ, it had only been like, a half hour. Knowing Combeferre and Courfeyrac, it still wasn’t safe to go home.

He grabbed the shark onesie. Fuck it. It was  _ really _ soft. The hood was the shark’s mouth!

He pushed the cart through electronics. He passed a display with a bunch of gift cards on it. He grabbed a Barnes & Noble gift card, just because.

He caught himself in the reflection of a TV screen. He had so much hair. He wondered if people were ever going to stop staring at him (it), or if people would ever stop touching it without his permission. He wondered if people were ever going to stop asking whether or not it was fake - it wasn’t. Not the length, or the color, and even if he’d actually had a weave, it wouldn’t be any of their business. Not unless they were also black and were looking to get the same thing done - and if that were the case, they’d probably know how to ask.

An idea twinged in the back of his mind.

He pushed the cart further. He couldn’t go home yet, probably. And if he waited - well, he’d lose the nerve.

He grabbed a CD. It could have been anything, honestly - he just wanted to buy something else since these poor Target employees had to put up with him loitering for - God, forty-five minutes now. He also grabbed a bag of sour candy. Just ‘cause.

He passed the hair aisle. Again. It was on the way to the checkout. He could feel the clippers blinking at him.

Alright. Fuck it. Okay.

He bought the clippers.

\---

He knocked on Grantaire’s door three times. He heard a thump and a soft  _ “Fuck _ ” and suddenly Grantaire was at the door.

They blinked at each other.

“What - are you okay?” asked Enjolras. “There was a thump.”

“I fell over,” said Grantaire. “It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

They stared at each other.

“Can I come in?” asked Enjolras.

“Uh, yeah,” said  Grantaire. He stepped back to let Enjolras in.

“I need a favor,” said Enjolras, now safely inside Grantaire’s apartment.

“Anything,” said Grantaire.

“I need you to help me shave my head,” said Enjolras. “It’s just - I don’t know if I can get it even. In the back.”

“Alright,” said Grantaire. “Not what I thought you were gonna ask. Why don’t you sit down?”

Enjolras sat at the edge of Grantaire’s couch. Grantaire sat beside him.

“Will you do it?” asked Enjolras.

“Why are you shaving your head?” asked Grantaire.

“Not like, a clean shave. Not shiny like Uncle Fester or something. Buzzed,” said Enjolras.

“Stiles Stilinski, season one?” asked Grantaire.

Enjolras cocked his head. Only two of those words were familiar to him, and none of them made any sense strung together.

“You’ve never seen  _ Teen Wolf _ ?” asked Grantaire.

“Is Stiles a character?” asked Enjolras.

“Not important,” said Grantaire. “Listen - are you okay?”

“I just -” Enjolras threw his hands up. “People keep looking at my hair. And touching it. And making comments on it. And I know - listen, I know - if I cut it all off, then they’ll still make comments, but at least then it’ll be about my  _ lack _ of hair. I just - I need a break.”

“You do have beautiful hair,” said Grantaire. “I mean, you know that.”

“Hair grows back,” said Enjolras. “I’ll just cut it myself if you won’t help me, and then it’ll be weird and uneven and I’ll blame you.”

“Oh, will you?” asked Grantaire, mouth quirking up.

“I will,” said Enjolras seriously.

“Alright,” said Grantaire. “Come on.”

“What,” said Enjolras.

“I’m not going to cut your hair in my living room,” said Grantaire. “Clean up is easier in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras. “Oh, right. I have clippers?”

“So do I,” said Grantaire. “We can use yours if you prefer.”

“Well, mine are still in the box, so,” said Enjolras.

Grantaire laughed. “Did you come here straight from the store?”

“I had time to kill in Target,” said Enjolras.

“You didn’t even mean to shave your head today, did you?” said Grantaire.

“Courfeyrac’s back,” said Enjolras. Grantaire nodded.

“I’m sure those two things are somehow related,” said Grantaire. “Come on. Let’s go shave a head.”

\---

“I’m going to shave an undercut first,” said Grantaire. “That way, if you chicken out, you’ll still look badass.”

“I’m not going to chicken out,” said Enjolras, eyeing his hair in the mirror nervously. “Just shave it already.”

“Alright, alright,” said Grantaire. “Tilt your head forward.”

Enjolras could hear the buzzing of the clippers somewhere behind him. He felt Grantaire gather the hair and push it forward.

“Hold this,” said Grantaire. Enjolras grabbed the hair and took a deep breath.

It was like what he thought a tattoo might be like, if tattoos didn’t hurt. There was buzzing. Vibrating. Curls were falling away, landing on Enjolras’s shirt and Grantaire’s bathroom floor, brushing Enjolras’s neck as they went down. Patches of Enjolras’s skin were open now. Colder. He couldn’t think of a time in his life he’d had short hair, so he figured his scalp would be pale, too. You’d be able to see it, he thought, with how close Grantaire was shaving it.

“Tilt to the left,” said Grantaire. Enjolras did. Grantaire began to cut away the hair behind Enjolras’s ears. He bent the ear forward for a better angle. He did the other side.

“Alright, face me,” said Grantaire. Enjolras spun around in his stool.

“Yes?” asked Enjolras.

“I can either start shaving the top of your head, or I can leave it as is,” said Grantaire. “I mean, it looks pretty cool like this.”

Enjolras glanced at himself in the mirror. It  _ did _ look pretty cool.

“No,” said Enjolras, shaking his head. “Do the rest.”

Grantaire nodded. He got to work. Now that he was shaving the top, it was easier for Enjolras to sit still and for Grantaire to move around him. It was quick work at this point. It wasn’t hard - you can’t really worry about messing up when there’s nothing  _ to _ mess up. Enjolras wanted it all gone. There was no chance he’d take too much off. It was all coming off.

God. They should have put a towel down on the floor or something. Enjolras had beautiful hair, but it’d be a bitch to clean up.

“Okay,” said Grantaire, on the finishing end of his finishing touches. He shaved in a few different directions, just to make sure everything was about the same length. “You’re good. How do you feel?”

Enjolras turned back towards the mirror. His neck seemed longer. His cheekbones - well, he’d always had prominent cheekbones, but now they were  _ present _ . Everything on his face seemed more important, suddenly, because there was no hair to hide behind.

He blinked at himself. His scalp was lighter than the rest of his head, but that was to be expected. It had been covered by thick, dark hair for just over two decades. Now there was only a hint of hair - short enough that his scalp was shining through and just long enough that you could see the beginnings of his curl pattern.

His head felt so  _ light _ .

“Excellent,” said Enjolras, flashing Grantaire a wicked grin. “I - oh, geez.”

Standing up, a few determined locks of hair fell from Enjolras’s lap and onto the ground. Grantaire reached out to brush a few strays from Enjolras’s shoulders.

“Oh my God,” said Enjolras. “I’m getting hair all over you apartment. Let me -”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Grantaire. “Stay here - if you come with me, hair will get  _ everywhere _ . I’ll be right back.”

Enjolras waited patiently. He couldn’t stop looking at himself. He looked - God, not  _ gaunt _ , but like there were more bones in his head than he’d previously thought. Like his eyes were  _ really  _ in charge of his face. He looked like the kind of person who could pull off a mesh shirt - which wasn’t something Enjolras had ever thought about himself before.

Grantaire came back with a broom.

“Do me a favor and take your shirt off,” said Grantaire.

“What,” said Enjolras.

“To shake it out,” said Grantaire. “For the loose hair? So you don’t shed everywhere. It’s probably best just to wash it, actually. And yourself.”

“God,” said Enjolras. All the loose bits of hair stuck in his shirt were starting to itch. “You’re right.”

“You can shower if you want,” said Grantaire. “I’ll get you a bag for your clothes, and I’ll bet I can find some sweatpants and a t-shirt for you to wear.”

“Thanks,” said Enjolras. “I’ll take you up on that.”

Grantaire looked devastatingly serious for a second and then shook himself out of it.

“Great. I’ll just - if you could just hop up on the sink or something so I can sweep first. It’s - if your run the hot water, the hair will stick to everything.” Grantaire swallowed. “Humidity.”

“Right,” said Enjolras. “Of course. You know, I can -”

“I’ll sweep,” said Grantaire.

“I already made you shave my head, the least I can do is sweep up the remains,” said Enjolras.

“I don’t think you made me do anything,” said Grantaire. “And like, people don’t normally just shave their heads on a whim. Not unless there’s something else going on.”

“Didn’t Jehan do that in college?” asked Enjolras.

“You and I both know that Jehan is an outlier. How about this -  _ you _ don’t normally do drastic things like this without extensive planning.,” said Grantaire. “You shaved your head today. On a whim. So, I’m guessing you’re having something of an emotional crisis. Or you’re about to. And since I’m a head-shaving-enabler, the  _ least _ I can do is sweep up some hair. To make it easier.”

A knot untwisted itself in Enjolras’s stomach. Enjolras had forgotten it was there. It had been there about as long as Enjolras could remember - however long people had been feeling entitled to his hair.

“Right,” said Enjolras weakly. “Right. You’re - Grantaire. You’re a good friend.”

Grantaire paused sweeping. He kept his eyes on the ground.

“You need a good friend,” said Grantaire. “I happen to be in the area.”

“You’re a good friend,” said Enjolras again, more intently this time.

“Okay,” said Grantaire, shoveling the last of the hair into a garbage bag. “Sure. I’m a  _ great _ friend.”

“I know you’re making fun of me, but it’s true,” said Enjolras.

“I’ll leave the new clothes outside the door,” said Grantaire.

\---

The group chat was blowing up by the time Grantaire had cooled it enough to sit down on the couch and check his phone. He’d been puttering around the apartment since Enjolras got in the shower. He couldn’t figure out what to do with the bag of hair, so he left it near the front door. He’d rummaged through his dresser in search of something that would fit Enjolras. Enjolras had these ridiculous long, thinish legs. Model legs. Grantaire was stockier than that - he wasn’t sure if he owned any sweatpants that would look anything other than comical on Enjolras.

Ah. There. Courfeyrac had left some sweatpants here on the last movie night. Those would be fine - Courfeyrac and Enjolras were both lanky bastards.

Grantaire left the pants and a spare t-shirt outside the bathroom. He could hear Enjolras humming through the door. Jesus Christ.

Determined to think of things other than Enjolras in the shower, Grantaire rearranged a shelf on his bookcase. He put the kettle on to make tea. He wiped his hands down the sides of his pants. He didn’t know what else to do while waiting for Enjolras to get out of the shower, so he plopped down on the couch and reached for his phone. The group chat was going wild.

_ Courf: HAS ANYONE SEEN ENJOLRAS _

_ Combeferre: courfeyrac is blowing things out of proportion _

_ Courf: I AM NOT _

_ Courf: WE HAVENT SEEN HIM ALL DAY AND HE ISNT ANSWERING HIS PHONE _

_ Combeferre: we havent seen him for three hours _

_ Combeferre: and he isn’t answering his phone _

_ Courf: WHICH IS CAUSE FOR CONCERN _

_ Courf: HE ALWAYS ANSWERS HIS PHONE UNLESS HES WORKING _

_ Courf: HE SAID HE WAS ONLY GOING TO TARGET _

_ Eponine: stop texting us in all caps _

_ Eponine: hes probably fine i bet he jsut got arrested for starting an impromptu protest or something _

_ Courf: we need to talk about your definition of “fine”, ponine _

_ Cosette: maybe he just fell asleep in target??? _

_ Courf: is that a thing?? thats a situation?? they dont even have beds there tho _

_ Joly: i fell asleep in a target once _

_ Joly: changing rooms. good nap tbh _

_ Courf: i cant believe none of you are concerned about this _

_ Combeferre: to be fair, he is a grown man. he can take care of himself for a few hours. maybe his phone died? _

_ Courf: if his phone died HE COULD BE NEXT _

_ Joly: we need to talk about how death works, courf _

_ Jehan: ooh, count me in for that conversation _

Grantaire shook his head. His friends were crazy, the whole lot of them.

_ R: hes fine lmao hes with me _

He braced himself for the sea of texts he was about to receive.

_ Courf: ????????? _

_ Courf: ?????????????????????? _

_ Combeferre: see? hes fine _

_ Eponine: r u gettin busy _

_ Courf: ????????????????????????????????? _

_ Eponine: ;-) _

_ Joly: tell him i say hi pls _

_ R: hes in the group chat too he’ll just read all this later _

_ Joly: pls tell him with ur voice _

_ Jehan: yeah pls w/ ur voice _

_ Combeferre: but he’s alright? Courf is right, he always answers his phone. It’s been over an hour since we tried to get in touch with him _

_ R: i think u as a group need to talk about how long a person needs to be awol before its worrisome holy shit _

_ R: yeah hes fine i think his phone is just in his bag? _

_ R: id have him text u now but hes covered in water _

_ Combeferre: what _

Grantaire mentally smacked himself.

_ R: hes in the shower _

_ Cosette: you mean like ;-) _

_ R: no not like ;-) _

_ R: jesus christ ill let him explain later but rest assured we did not ;-) _

_ Jehan: my god i think they ;-) _

_ R: im going to kill all of you _

_ R: also courf im letting him borrow your sweatpants you left here _

_ Courf: WHY does he need new pants _

_ Courf: why does he need sweatpants grantaire wahts wrong w/ the pants he was alreayd wearing _

_ Courf: i mean ofc its fine lmao but like what the hell were you two doing that he needs new pants if not ;-) _

_ R: we, as a group, should stop using ;-) as a noun _

_ Combeferre: its actually pretty interesting, linguistically speaking, how emojis and emoticons have been introduced into conversation and what parts of speech they can represent _

_ Combeferre: its on par with internet/meme culture as a new field of cultural study _

_ R: im going to kill you for making me read that sentence with my own two eyes _

_ Combeferre: thats fair _

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire looked up. Enjolras was standing at the end of the hallway, right where it turned into the living room. Enjolras, Grantaire thought, was looking like an avant-garde model in his sweatpants and old t-shirt. The sweatpants were tapered at the ends - joggers, really - and the t-shirt was hanging off him in such a way that his collar bone was sticking out, and he  _ cheekbones _ were really killing Grantaire, and his  _ eyes - _

“Um,” said Enjolras. “I just wanted - thank you. For shaving my head. Thanks for shaving my head.”

“Anytime,” said Grantaire. “Hey, if you decide you like it short, I’ll cut it again.”

Enjolras smiled. The kettle beeped.

“Uh,” said Grantaire. “Tea? Also, check your phone. Courfeyrac is losing his mind.”

“Oh, shit,” said Enjolras. He checked the clock on the wall. He’d been gone for longer than he’d thought.

“I didn’t tell them you shaved your head,” said Grantaire. “But I did say you were with me. So like, not dead. I also accidentally said you were in the shower, and now they think we’re fucking.”

Enjolras snorted. Grantaire tried not to let it sting.

Enjolras rummaged around in his bag for his phone. His head snapped up.

“I didn’t mean to laugh at the idea of fucking you,” said Enjolras. “I was laughing because of our friends and their ability to make leaping accusations with little to no information. Like thinking I was missing because I’ve been gone for a few hours. Or that we’re fucking because I was using your shower. Though I guess that’s more plausible.”

Enjolras went back to looking for his phone, congratulating himself when he found it. He clicked it on and winced at the amount of unread texts.

“Plausible,” Grantaire choked out. He didn’t even mean to say it out loud.

“Yeah,” said Enjolras distractedly. “There are only so many reasons a person would use another person's shower, I guess. There’s about a thousand reasons a person wouldn’t answer their phone for a few hours, and nine hundred of them are nothing to worry about. Also -”

Also  _ what _ ? Grantaire was just about ready to implode, but Courfeyrac was calling, interrupting Enjolras.

Enjolras picked up the phone. “Bonjour,” he said.

Grantaire could hear Courfeyrac talking excitedly through the phone, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“No,” said Enjolras. “We didn’t - I did not fuck Grantaire.”

Deciding he probably couldn’t handle hearing Enjolras using the word  _ fuck _ in conjunction with  _ Grantaire _ another time without imploding, he excused himself to make tea.

\---

“Your head feels lighter, doesn’t it?” asked Grantaire.

“Loads,” said Enjolras. He couldn’t stop turning his head. It felt weird - there was always a ton of weight there, always something he’d run into. Always something to pull back, out of the way. There wasn’t anything left.

Grantaire passed Enjolras a cup of tea and they sat across from each other.

“You know - I wouldn’t have gone home. To shave my head. Even if Combeferre and Courfeyrac weren't fucking - I came here on purpose,” said Enjolras.

Grantaire took a gulp of hot tea and grimaced when it hit his throat. “I’m not sure about that - if they hadn’t been, uh,  _ getting it on _ , you wouldn’t have shaved your head at all.”

“When we first me - the second time we met, actually - you put yourself between me and some asshole who didn’t know anything about black hair. So I thought that out of all of my friends, you’d understand the most,” said Enjolras.

“I thought you hated me for that,” said Grantaire.

Enjolras choked on his tea. “ _ What _ ,” he said.

“Well, you didn’t talk to me after. You looked pissed -”

“I always look pissed -”

“Right, but I didn’t know that yet. I thought you were made because I didn’t let you fight your own battles or whatever,” said Grantaire.

Enjolras eased back into his chair and lifted his legs up on the seat. “To tell you the truth, I’m really tired of fighting this particular battle. I don’t like having to defend my  _ hair _ . Like, with the rest of it, I can pick. I don’t like being forced to fight for something. That isn’t fair. I didn’t sign up for this one - so, I guess it was nice. I mean, to have someone else fight that battle for me. It was nice.”

Enjolras ran a hand over his head. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to feeling the soft edges of the buzzcut. Grantaire tracked his movement.

“I used to have cornrows,” said Grantaire after a moment. “For like, two weeks out of the year when I was a kid. My mom would take me to visit our family in Jersey and my cousins would braid it. That’s the only time I ever did anything with it. Anyway, we get back from the trip and my hair is still cornrowed, and I’m halfway to the corner store when I realize I’ve never had my hair like this at home before. Never. And I realize it because I grew up in this small town, and there were only so many black kids, right? So everyone is kind of looking at me, like either I look really terrible in cornrows or they straight-up don’t recognize me.”

“Oh no,” said Enjolras.

“Oh yes,” said Grantaire. “I’m like, maybe fourteen at this point. Might have been thirteen - it doesn’t matter. I get to the store and I wave at the checkout lady because I always wave at her when I walk in. I’ve been doing it since I was three. I grew up going to that store. But listen - she doesn’t wave back.”

“Grantaire,” said Enjolras.

“Just listen,” said Grantaire. “She doesn’t wave back. She looks a little confused, and I think, fine, whatever, maybe she’s having an off day. So I wander around the store for a bit because I was supposed to pick up some chips or something for my mom, only I’d forgotten exactly  _ which _ chips, and I was thinking that maybe if I saw all of them I’d remember. And I start to notice that whenever I switch aisles, that cashier lady is at the end of the aisle too. Always. She thought I was stealing, I guess. And I tell her like, Betsy, it’s me. It’s Grantaire. You sold me a coloring book when I was five. And she just sort of blinks at me, and I swear to God I could see her trying to photoshop my loose hair on top of my head in her brain. She couldn’t recognize me without it.”

“That’s fucked up,” said Enjolras. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You don’t need to be. None of us need to be sorry, not when white people think of our hair as a weapon. I mean, come on. That’s not even my worst cornrow story.”

Enjolras snorted. “I believe you.”

Grantaire stood up to clear the teacups away. “I didn’t tell you that to make you feel sorry for me or anything. I just want you to know that I get it. It sucks to be forced into a fight like that. You didn’t pick your hair and it shouldn’t even matter in the first place. But it does. And everybody and their mother thinks it belongs to them.”

Riding on a wave of sudden, furious courage, Enjolras got up and hugged Grantaire.

“Hey,” said Grantaire. “You good?”

“Mhm,” said Enjolras into Grantaire’s shoulder. “Totally fine.”

They stood like that for a moment, until Enjolras finally pulled away.

“Look,” said Grantaire. “I know we aren’t that close, but I feel like head-shaving and a history of shared oppression are the kind of things that can bring people together, like fighting a giant troll or something. What was it in _ Harry Potter _ ?”

“It was a troll,” said Enjolras. “They fought a troll and then figured they couldn’t  _ not _ be friends after that.”

“Right,” said Grantaire. “So like, if you ever want someone to talk hair with, I’m here. We could share horror stories or something.”

“One time some kid asked me if I needed to wear a bike helmet or if my hair worked just fine,” said Enjolras.

“One time a white kid asked me to give him dreads,” said Grantaire.

“One time I was at this birthday party, and they gave out those cylindrical hairbrushes as party favors, and the mom was so offended when I wouldn’t use mine,” said Enjolras.

Grantaire snorted. “Exactly.”

Enjolras exhaled heavily. “God, it’s so weird to talk about. You ever try to bring it up with non-black people?”

“Their eyes glaze over. I might as well be speaking Klingon,” said Grantaire.

“And when you try to explain why it’s rude to just touch someone’s hair without warning -”

“Christ, it’s like they forget the concept of personal space extends to us negroes,” said Grantaire. Enjolras cackled.

“Alright,” he said. “I had really - I’d better get home soon. I did want to visit with Courfeyrac a bit before he passes out.”

“Of course,” said Grantaire.

“I had fun,” said Enjolras. “I might take you up on that offer to shave my head again.”

“You know I would,” said Grantaire. And then, before he could stop himself: “You only have to ask.”

Enjolras’s face did a funny thing - halfway between something and something else, if only Grantaire could figure out what it was - before smoothing over.

“I appreciate that,” said Enjolras. “Really.”

Grantaire nodded he didn’t know what to say.

Enjolras collected his things - the plastic bag of clothes, his messenger bag, his coat, his fucking tampons - and he gave Grantaire a quick kiss on the cheek before slipping out of the apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry - i know i have a bunch of stuff that needs updating. its been a while since ive posted (like, a month!) and i wanted to just get something out there instead of wallowing in my non-writing. also i start college in two days and im terrified.  
> really though - if you have any questions about black hair, im glad to answer them either in the comments or on tumblr @putoriius. just dont be rude, okay?


End file.
